Black Data
by Shadoshard
Summary: Jazz returning from the dead has far reaching repercussions, and not just for a Prowl unhappily bonded to Prime. JazzxProwl, MegatronxRatchet.  Bot on bot and bot on human later chapters
1. Chapter 1

Black Data

JazzXProwl

He sat as still as death, optics so dark, they sucked light from the dim. Attached to his chevron was the data link that connected him to the central network.

Miles and miles away, Red Alert absorbed the battlefield, transmitted.

Prowl became aware of every position, his battle computer calculating outcomes instantaneously, data relayed back to Red Alert, disseminated to each Autobot in battle, shot, unadulterated, to Optimus Prime.

Lazerbeak and Soundwave provided the same function for Megatron, though most of the recommendations suggested did not always translate well for the sheer brutality in which the Decepticon leader comported himself – directed his warriors –in battle.

Such data and planning could prove a delicate thing, and that the Autobots could utilize such gave them an advantage over brute strength—but not much.

Unpredictability was a strategists' enemy, and it was always difficult to make adjustments with the mere seconds granted Prowl.

The Tactician linked to Jazz.

There was a moment of silent acknowledgement, a wicked, smile the saboteur tossed over his shoulder; knowing Prowl was ghosting his movement, just before the mech slid like a shadow behind enemy lines, his targets hardly what anyone expected.

Frenzy was trying to hack into Autobot communication frequencies, while Ravage was watching his back.

Jazz hit one, then the other with a laser cutter, slicing into both with brutal efficiency—quick at least—though not quick enough to cause the sort of system damage that would prevent their consciousness from being downloaded via Lazerbeak back to their parent spark. Soundwave.

Jazz looked into the air, licked his fingers slowly and expressively, causing a heat to rush through Prowl's systems…

The saboteur relished the possibility, but settled for the outcome; the disruption to the 'Con network—Lazerbeak screeched, transmissions halted, Megatron hesitated at the unexpected change, leaving his left flank vulnerable.

Optimus took the shot, and Megatron's roar of pain was enough of a distraction to allow the Autobots to take the day…

"…You act like you din't like it, Prowler," Jazz taunted when he returned from battle.

"As long as you achieved the required result, that's all that matters," the tactician was dismissive, and had to quell something deep inside him.

In light of his bond, it was something that should never have been…

"Meet me in the abandoned warehouse on 9th," the saboteur smiled his most seductive.

"I'm not you, Jazz-I can't skulk off at leisure. My place is here…"

The truth of the matter was, that Prowl was the 'Here'. HE was the control center where data came through, was analyzed, processed, and disseminated. Everything that every Autobot learned or experienced eventually went through Prowl. He was what scrutinized battles, advised outcomes, predicted the whys and then reported them to Prime.

Prime, Prowl's bond…

"Okay Prowler," Jazz' expression shifted then. Prowl was caught by the sharp glint of light off a clever visor—enough to distract him so that a talon managed a feather touch along his hip unprotested.

Jazz departed, but the tactician knew that was not the end of it…

"…Prowl," the unmistakable command of his bond tugged.

The tactician had no choice—but to follow…

Megatron had been an insidious program. So few understood what his reign meant, until they lost control of even how they could love.

As complimentary components, Megatron decreed that leader should be bonded to tactician so decisions could be made instantaneously, based on data input. And because neither questioned what was good for the whole, they acquiesced to the procedure before either of them understood what it would cost sentients, rather than just machines.

"…Arranged marriages," Prime's beloved human registered in disgust. "Humanity might be a young species, but even WE understand how stupid THAT is…"

Only as much as one bond that hated the other.

Yes, Prowl admitted to himself, that while he respected the mech who was the Autobot leader, he hated him as a bond…

"…Needy bitch," the tactician couldn't help but stoop to human terminology. Prime was prone to talking and needing the company of another. He needed a soft place to fall, but one he could control. So while it was accepted by his bond that Optimus Prime had a heavy burden as their leader, by Prowl's standards, Prime could be so emotional, one would think—he was human…

"…And you're a cold piece of shit, Prowl," he was told. "You think like a machine that lacks a soul—it seems like you'd be happy to fit into the system Megatron designed."

Prowl looked down on the human Prime had been paying so much attention to lately, wondering how they could just stared up as if the tactician's very existance justified their conclusion, rather than logic.

"You come to irrational conclusions because you belong to Optimus Prime."

"I don't belong to ANY one!" the human hissed at Prowl, finding the concept offensive, as their expression turned as malignant as the sight of any Decepticon. "But YOU on the other hand…"

Prowl was sure they meant more than his bond with Prime, and found the human's cleverness and penchant for not spelling out their point annoying…

"…Kinda familiar, eh Prowler?" Jazz teased. "They expect everyone to be able to draw conclusions from the least obvious things—just like YOU…"

They were enough like Prowl in some ways to keep Prime busy, though hardly enough as far as the tactician was concerned. The human hated the idea of being owned as much as Prime wanted to own them, and so kept their distance.

They had Sam and Bumble Bee to thank for blazing THAT particular trail.

Prowl abandoned his thoughts then, returning to the central core. The other Autobots had been downloading their reports. Upon reviewing the data, it would be Prowl's job to compile it, break the battle down, calculate Autobot and Decepticon strengths, and run simulations on future battle plans.

But afterwards, Prime would reach out, his spark hungry and relentless.

Though he loathed the exchange for the truth of it, Prowl no longer even acknowledged that it was not even his name that his bond whimpered when Prime's spark reach for what wasn't there…

A talon suddenly drew along the input cable, touching Prowl's chevron with a soft 'tick' sound, joined to the breathy sigh of Jazz' designation.

"Takin' your sweet time in this one, Prowler. Somethin' you're diggin' in THERE—or dreading out HERE?"

Prowl recovered quickly, disengaging from the unit, drawing back.

"I have to report to Prime. I'm expected."

"You may be, but you won't get the welcome mat." Prowl raised an optic ridge. "I absconded Prime's flavor of the week and locked them in his quarters."

The sheer ruthlessness of Jazz' action, the admission, had taken the tactician by surprise, and he scanned Jazz' expression for indication of falsehood.

He found none.

"What's ta bother YOU, Prowler. Its not like he'd be callin' YOUR name, right?"

"It isn't likely he'll be calling her name either."

"An I'll be violatin' YOU—thank me appropriately by screamin' MY name."

Jazz was what humans termed 'black ops', Prowl – while a combat trained mech – was a data conduit, so there was little he could do when his fellow Autobot slammed him, face first, into the wall.

"I can't let you do this—" But Prowl's protest was hardly even worthy of the breath it required, and Jazz chuckled at the token gesture of 'fidelity'—knowing that two doors down, Prowl's 'bond' was pumping his human with the by pass cable to his spark.

"—With anyone but ME,' the spy purred in the tactician's audio, licking obscenely, as his talon twisted neural lines with a sort of possessiveness unheard of someone who specialized in making loyalties – so finite. "C'mon Prowler—let it go, and SAY it," and caused the tactician to wail when he thrust a digit into Prowl's chest plate.

"J-Jazz—please—"He struggled—he had no choice—didn't want to. It was too good, the feel of the spy's glossa digging in as Prowl's head dropped back, pain flaring with the pleasure as talons dug past armor plating into tender sensor lined polymer.

Though his bond, Prowl could hear Prime's human cry, their agonized pleasure a match for his own.

If Jazz cared, there was no reflection of it in the ops mechs' own pleadings…

_'…Say you belong to me—say you love me—SAY it…!'_

"…Damn you," Jazz rasped in desperation, pushing into Prowl like a sob into that place that watched the spy show off for him on the battle field, lingering in admiration over Jazz' ruthlessness—the purity of it—the strength.

Saboteur turned tactician to face him, ripping off the plating protecting the access to his core bypass that skipped the firewalls and filters demanding, "SAY it, Prowl!"

He slammed them together as Prowl screamed it.

"I LOVE you Jazz—YOU…!"

The blue electric flames of desire, lust and love lit the dim when Jazz slammed his hand into Prowl's chest, the plates on both mechs reconfiguring madly, Prowl convulsing when he realized, despite the on coming overload, what his lover was about.

"Your uptight aft—NEEDS this—release for me, Prowler," Jazz growled, both long past morality and decency. "GIVE yourself ta me…!"

A desperate cry filled the air as that precious control; withholding self and emotion because the existence of such only served self, filled to bursting the ones feeling it, begging for it-granted it.

That place within Prowl, hidden, protected—the emotion that melted in the moments when the sun of Jazz' hidden soul spilt out and sparkled in that clever visor, reached so deeply into the tactician, rose in Prowl's chest and met that tender innocence and joy so beyond even the spy's consciousness, whirled and sparkled like the gods of fleeting imagination. It was their truest essences naked and free in the tender love not even war could extinguish.

"…Oh babe—please—please—" Jazz trembled in Prowl's arms, Prowl's helm buried in Jazz' shoulder. They were wracked with sobs of joy and pleasure. The saboteur wanted to drown, as did the tactician, and did so in their mutual acquiescence.

They sank to the ground, metal interlocked, no way to determine where one ended and the other began.

"I love you baby—" Jazz ran his digits along his lover's cheek, the trembling lip components—Prowl licking the digit that was coated in his own fluids. "Prowl, baby—its you—jus' you…"

With the exchange complete, their chest components sealed once more. Prowl holding Jazz' innocence and joy safe from the wretched acts needed for the war, Jazz holding safe Prowl's emotions behind the wall of ruthless indifference.

They'd chosen long ago, when they realized they were more than just machines in Megatron's world. And in the exchange, though they understood that if one terminated, so too would the other, better their sparks lived on together in another world, than to live in THAT world without—no matter what they did.

In the end, it wasn't what they had been led to believed was permanent, it wasn't any physical condition forced on their chassis or spark based on logic or programming; in the long run, the only thing that had any relevance was the ONE thing they had learned in their own personal struggle, was worth all the pain and struggle—

Love…

***Epilogue

Prowl reported, albeit somewhat tardy, to Optimus Prime's chamber.

The Autobot commander was cradling their human to their chest, but his gaze drifted. He had substance, but meaning—had ghosted somewhere beyond his reach

The Autobot tactician was pleased that it was not he that Prime sought.

Prowl didn't question what he was going to have to do soon. He had hoped that this human would assuage his bond—it would have made things less complicated. The replacement his bond had found however was temporary at best, while the reality haunted Prime from a Decepticon's shadow.

For a moment, their optics locked, and through their bond, they could see—INTO each other—into the passion and love so strong, no program Megatron created could EVER change the fact—of whom they were TRULY bound to.

Logic had nothing to do with their choices.

And for once, Prowl didn't mind at all…


	2. Chapter 2

Black Data II

When he followed his spark's direction, when Ratchet became a medic, he understood the demands of the function; to heal and spare from pain. However, in the world Ratchet had been activated to, his designation wasn't so often needed. There was little suffering—though he had extensive knowledge in what could be required to heal. There were minor repairs here and there, and Ratchet was content.

"…Did you ever wonder, medic, about the end of function?" but it was an alien concept; Ratchet didn't understand what Megatron was talking about—Megatron, who had traveled the stars, and to the deep recesses of a black hole, to come out again through the All Spark itself, so it was rumored. The Lord Protector rose from the exam table, eyes burning, advancing as Ratchet receded like one polar opposite did from the other. "We do not end, medic, except, perhaps, in the rarest of circumstances. Do you ever wonder—the question? End? Change? Would you fear it? Or relish the taste?"

It was the first, real encounter Ratchet had with the enemy.

"Someday," the Lord High Protector told Ratchet, with a smooth enthusiasm that sparked something in the medic he could not understand, that made him flinch and drew him all at once, "I'll make you relish it, then you will understand…"

And then Megatron decided Utopia wasn't enough, and introduced such pain and misery as those of his generation could scarcely imagine…

"…Medics on line, incoming casualties. Estimate of 50 casualties, data indicates 10 percent loss of life."

Ending was not a natural thing to Cybertronians. When one of them got tired of their existence, they downloaded their consciousness into the AllSpark and were then returned at their leisure—absorbed different data, accepted a new function. It was merely continuance. This 'change' Megatron spoke of, this 'End' had no meaning to Ratchet, until the war…

"…Solaar—end line," the battle computer had made no error, and Ratchet stared at the darkening optics of his fellow mech, one who had been with Ratchet in the hands on training for combat, and the horror dawned on him as his companion's fluids cooled on the inert chassis, the light reflecting off it causing the fallen warrior to shimmer, one last moment of illumination, before what lay in Ratchet's arms became nothing but an empty shell, devoid of the glory that had once been life.

Ratchet dropped the body unceremoniously to the ground, rising up and stumbling.

Solaar had been a part of Ratchet's circuit, and now—that pathway was silent; there was no more motion, no more presence, no more exchange. It simply—was not. Ratchet could not even find a trace of memory in Solaar's frame—and he had not been near the AllSpark—no place to down load…

"…No—"the medic tried to deny what was before him, that horrible emptiness, the lack of response, groping almost blindly in the dark where Solaar had once been. "Nononono—NOOO…!"

And Megatron, who had taken a particular interest in how his once personal 'medic' would react to this first taste, smiled with great satisfaction, licking his lips as if Ratchet's misery, pain and shock were a delicacy he could taste in the air…

"…It is said once innocence is lost, it cannot be regained," he said to his second in command, Soundwave listening on silently, already knowing where this was going. "But innocence exists in layers, so many layers, each sweeter than the last, until one gets to the very heart. Leave this one, Starscream," Megatron stayed the trigger of his air commander who hissed in disappointment. The medic was being so sloppy; they who were such deserved to 'end', as his dread leader liked to say.

Ratchet went on to live another day…

Time passed, though acknowledging it seemed less and less relevant; specifics were lost to the brutal destruction of Cybertronian society, and their world. There were no 'citizens' any more, merely soldiers, drones that clashed and ended in an almost perpetual stalemate.

It was all laid to waste at Megatron's feet…

"…Ratchet, how many –"

"It was a good day, Prime—we only lost two; Zenith and Straight Shot," though the medic couldn't keep the disgust out of his tone. He was covered in their fluids, haunted by the expression on Zenith's face when Straight Shot faded; Zenith had lost the ability to interface long ago during the attack on Iacon - there was no way to repair that function with the shortages of supplies – but the pair were none the less devoted, finding other ways to fill their consciousness with one another.

Prime nodded, but he couldn't say he was pleased. No, it wasn't so much the casualties; there'd been no choice but to accept the reality of body count. And this caused a further displeasure in the Autobot commander; they had all been at war for so long, the things they once could not accept had become so common, it caused apathy. Once upon a time, Ratchet would consider the loss of any life a bad day. And Optimus himself would have heard those losses shrieking in his off line.

It was another day on the battle field, and in the background, there was Bumble Bee screaming, a sickening crunch.

One less scream.

Megatron tossed the small bot to the side, ending what had bored him, allowing him to crawl away—to Ratchet…

"…Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, Megatron!" Optimus was like a stuck circuit - a laugh track, humans called it - that had long ceased to be amusing. The Decepticon blocked it out almost sadly.

"Fool—blind." Megatron reasoned that his once co ruler lacked the ability to understand his plans, let alone the subtle shadings of it. Optimus simpered platitudes about a plan he lacked the facilities to truly grasp. "I'm losing patience at the prospect that he could provide even amusement, let alone JOIN me—but not all," he attended the transmission from Lazerbeak; Ratchet was treating Bumble Bee. Less seasoned of all the warriors, Megatron had allowed the Autobot to live because it was also the most optimistic of all the Autobots. It kept most of the others buoyed when hope seemed at its dimmest. If the little yellow bot fell, suffered too badly, Megatron knew his toys would be—less fun, to play with.

Soundwave knew what was coming. He had seen Megatron do this many times before with his human slaves, who were so suited to the process, they did it to one another and it was an accepted practice. The Decepticon leader had been savoring the idea for a very long time, watching his once naive medic change, grow edges, and grow a shell to hide that innocence that kept him from the brink.

"Pleasure and pain, life and death," Megatron traced the edges of Soundwave's canon lovingly. "Such fine lines between-the only REAL difference to them, is perception. " He grinned with anticipation. He gave the command.

"Bring me the medic—and let the lesson—begin…"

And so he waited, though time ceased to have meaning to him, left in the darkness, his chronometer off lined, optics disabled, vocals too, and left with only the memory of battle, the fighting, screaming and suffering of others. But for Ratchet—there was nothing. He was rendered immobile in a zero-G prison; he lacked sensation or the ability to create it.

Ratchet was left to wonder—why HIM? That all consuming question that burned in him—why had Megatron taken HIM? In all the time that crawled like oil gone cold, the medic wondered the question whose answer was denied him—like the pathways in his network, blocked, leaving Ratchet alone and beginning to tremble, each degree like hash marks in his CPU, passing time. He would have choked back a sob, a scream, praying his desperation was powerful enough to break through—reach—ANY one. The medic didn't have the words to describe the state - few Cybertronians experienced it, always connected to their kind in one way or another - that humans already understood as acute loneliness—until he felt the whisper in the darkness…

"Do you remember—sensation, Autobot?"

Ratchet tried moving his head, trying to determine the direction of the voice, the vibration. He tried flexing his fingers, after noticing his extremities were splayed out, learning it was only his position that was changed.

"It's been quiet for you, hasn't it? Such an unnatural state for our kind—constant movement, constant connection—our world was as internal as it was external, and our identities forged on layers upon layers of data, the function of others, intertwined. Our kind is FILLED, and none the wiser about any other reality, isn't that correct, medic?"

And Ratchet realized—that presence, soft as moon glow, creeping like the slow heat of an overload—Megatron was with him now, and coiled softly around him as the medic lapped his presence like a starving kitten over cream.

The realization filled the Autobot with revulsion—and that alone was a torment.

"What would you do, medic, MY medic, if you were like most of the universe—empty?"

Ratchet couldn't answer, had no voice, and his CPU anguished, bereft of even THAT small mercy.

"Do you remember, what so many of our kind deny ourselves since the conflict of our evolution, the instruments, the TOOLS, of our pleasure, Autobot? Do you remember that sweet joy, Autobot?" Ratchet could hear the whir of input cables pulled from their resting places, and his spark leapt—ached—from both the fear that the hated leader of the Decepticons considered ENDING that deprivation—and the sheer NEED for that connection. "We FILL one another, Autobot—until there is no lines, no separation between us. We become enough—to fill all of reality, until our bodies overload from it, and we achieve bliss. How strange we are," Megatron murmured in Ratchet's audios. The medic would have moaned, inched closer, whether he wanted to or not. But then, he felt something—untoward.

What Megatron was doing to him—removing armor. No, there was no pain, and the Decepticon was being surprising gentle, tender, each movement was like a whisper, like—like a caress.

"We are not tactile beings, Autobot—but humans—let me tell you about humans," Megatron slipped a talon inside a seam on Ratchet's neck, were a sensor guided fuel line ran, and the shock of the touch caused his intakes to hitch. "They achieve pleasure when they lose themselves—when they become empty—did you know that, medic?" The concept sounded like it pleased the Decepticon, but Ratchet was beginning to have a hard time following. Megatron toyed with wires and sensors and the medic was slowly inundated with sensations he did not understand. Sensations—oh—what was Megatron DOING to him? How…?

"I've—experimented, on organics, did you know?" A claw trailed down the center of the lines leading to his spark casing, ripples of the most overwhelming sensations began overtaking the medic, and his diagnostics babbling as his body began shifting like molten slag. His CPU stammered, data lock—oh—oh—Megatron—tactile—touch—what-? "The word you're looking for by now, Autobot, is pleasure," the Decepticon was a long drawn out purr. "Humans LOVE death, did you know, medic? What you always swore to battle—ahhhh—how little you understand. But you will—understand the end of self, change…what one can become, after one dies…"

…Unnnhhhhwhywhywhy—Ratchet's CPU was beginning to falter—death—pleasure—wherewhere-unnnnnnhhhhhpleeeeeeasssse—the Atuobot could feel electricity building in his systems, he could feel Megatron so close—so close to his body—that body craving touch—more-could feel the Decepticon's own systems so eager—energy cascading…

"…When a human enters a state of bliss, Autobot—when they reach their bliss—huhhhhhyes—when they give themselves to their bliss—their sense of self ceases—it slips—YOU slip—like the universe slips in transition, when it teeters between the ecstatic energies colliding—called 'the little death'—do you like it, Autobot?" Megatron was an enticement, his tone a wave of hot, sweet oil. Ratchet felt a hot, slick glossa worm its way along the input cable of his spark housing—the medic began silently panting, electricity crackling hard—his internals writhed, the nanosystems bucking, the sounds of their movement a hiss, , Ratchet's only voice as the Lord High Protector rumbled fiercely along the length of his ex-medic's form. Only Ratchet's optics – now the color of the deep, churning earth ocean – belied his state. And like the ocean, something churned frantically in Ratchet's depths, something without identification, something eclipsing him, causing him such desperate joy…

"Do you feel it, Autobot?" Megatron's words were almost impossible to register now. "You're beginning to empty as your body's need overrides the sense of self." The Decepticon purred, running a single digit along Ratchet's spark casing. The Autobot's thoughts shattered, and finally, his body over road his controls, bucking in desperate need. Megatron chuckled softly. "Did you know, Autobot, when the universe, after the clash of such momentous forces that render humans with out sense of self, it is a blank slate, Autobot? Like YOU are about to become? That everything that ever was—ends?"

Ratchet heard, but couldn't process; he was lost, cut adrift and poised over a precipice without a sense of balance, falling…

"It is Death, Autobot—that end of self you face—soooo good, isn't it? So pure and so free—nothing but sensation—and then—nothing. A split second," Megatron poised just for a moment, claw poised—Ratchet's spark crackled, leaping upwards in desperation. "And your spark, the mirror of the AllSpark that birthed it, begging for that small death—what I make inevitable—when It is in my grasp, I will give it what you beg me for, Autobot—the touch that grants it death…"

It was a hard, unrelenting push into the field of the Autobot medic's casing—Ratchet arching, his body bowed in reaction to the rush of energy filling, expanding through out his body like a molten fire, his systems shrieked in blinding ecstasy…

"…And in the end-that split second, what to fill that emptiness with—what to fill YOU with, my Autobot—MY Autobot…"

…he plunged his fist into the heart of Ratchet's spark, and suddenly, the Autobot had a voice, screaming in his ecstasy of his physical release-

"UNNNNNNMMMMMMEGATROOOOOONNNN…!"

"Yeeeeessssss—I fill you! After the death I put you to, I fill you! I fill the All Spark, and remake the world and all in it—in MY image! Subject to MY will, MY Autobot…!"

…Wiring burned, systems overloaded, his CPU was incapable of processing anything beyond what his body experienced, even though Ratchet heard the words, he felt Megatron's tender caresses, like a sweet compassion, as if he were a soothing lover.

"Yes, my Autobot—there now. Not so bad is death, is it?" The medic felt something cool slide along his overheated glossa, lick softly. Ratchet's CPU slowly returned on line, ripples of understanding and revulsion flooding his being. "I suppose by this time, you have come to enough of an understanding, but—you are yet unable to see my vision completely—I want to take this lesson slowly," Megatron confessed, withdrawing. "There's so much to enjoy, before you're ready to return to Optimus Prime and your comrades—a—proper reflection of my vision of the universe…"

Ratchet understood—he'd been left again to the nothingness, the emptiness. A cold crept into his system as it began repairing itself from the 'little death'.

Megatron, Ratchet knew, would be back after a long enough time had passed. And eventually, if he wasn't rescued, the medic who had fought for centuries for life, would begin to CRAVE the reason he had to fight.

Ratchet would begin craving Megatron.

Ratchet would begin craving—Death…


	3. Chapter 3

BLACK DATA III

MegatronXLennox

Perhaps it was too much to expect more than just a scream from the human—but the biologic transmitted nothing to its captor's CPU—there was not even static—the creature's vocmod choked as the Decepticon felt the rush of energy when completely tapping into the ill fated human's neurological net.

Then, the creature's eyes rolled back in its head, and it expired—its body lolled sickeningly in the large mech's hands, but Megatron was too lost in his temporary euphoria to do more than drop it and drift about his chambers…

It started out as one of Hook's experiments, to see if a human's mind could be tapped for data, like their primitive computers—but not even Frenzy would volunteer…

"…Worthless—fearing THESE," and his troop scattered, Starscream silently hoping for a failure, when Megatron strode forth.

The first rush – and that was truly the best way to describe it were Megatron inclined to – indeed made a human mind and body an 'open book' as they said, but it also killed them. And even by Megatron's standards, it was a cruel and savage demise; they thrashed in pain, leaking thick, viscous red fluid from their optics and audios, their vocmods seized – Hook determined that their nervous system practically melted, and reasoned that this was the cause of termination.

Hook's experimentation later advanced to managing a way a human could survive the procedure; seeding their bodies with nanite receptors that could direct the energy accordingly. They could even be loaded with data, or experience pleasure in the exchange—providing they accepted…

"…But who would want to interface with a biologic?" Hook's consideration caused disgust in his fellow Decepticons.

Megatron, however, saw an opportunity, considering how the Autobots were beginning to get suspicious concerning the disappearances of their beloved 'humans'. Most believed it was along the lines of Barricade's thinking; making them slaves…

"…Got 'em trolling something called a 'Mall' in the sticks," Barricade threw two new humans into the cage, one of them wailing, causing the Decepticon leader some disdain, glad for what was about to befall them, if not to just silence it.

"I want THAT one," the black and white pointed to one that stared almost in disinterest. "They refused to play the game. It IGNORED me."

"I'm gonna die I'm gonna die!" cried the noisy one, sinking to their knees.

"If that's what you believe, then I suppose you are."

Those words drew Megatron's interest.

"Even humans get sick of humans," Starscream muttered, as Megatron nodded to Hook, who scooped out the quieter of the two creatures out of the cage.

"You ARE going to die," Megatron tossed to the human remaining, and the medic's CPU buzzed darkly. He was aware this unspoken 'addiction', knew better than to mention it to ANY one, but it was a sickening perversion nonetheless.

It upset him that his leader did not at least allow him to watch.

"Stand by in your quarters," Megatron instructed Barricade, as minion's eagerness unmistakable; he was expecting a reward for bringing in valuable experimental material—even if one had a flaw in the off switch to its vocmod—not that it mattered.

Humans were only served one REAL purpose; being toys for their betters…

***

The Decepticon leader watched the human scream when Hook fitting them with the injection collar that would permit the proper access to them. It impressed Megatron that it didn't beg or plead or cry—they just screamed when the pain got difficult.

"Put them in my chambers."

Hook didn't question.

The little piece of meat lay there, soft and defenseless, Megatron wondered why it fought to live, but another question came to mind, "What do YOU believe?"

The human rose shakily, and answered, "I believe you're just a machine, with only just enough sentience to KNOW it."

The brazenness didn't surprise the Decepticon; some humans found courage when staring at their end. It was the human's words—they didn't truly come from the end point of fear and impending death.

It was perception above fear.

The Decepticon leader pondered what other delicacies lay in the biologic's processor.

"Very good, little human," Megatron bent down, scooping the creature. It looked him straight in the optics, and a strange look overtook it, its mind already working, searching through the Cybertronian's own via its infant 'wifi' as humans called it.

Open book, cold steel—and the warmth—that sweet, sweet warmed, recoiled.

This, Megatron did not want.

He laid bare a tidbit, as if enticing a skittish pet; a memory.

Cybertron, in all its former glory splayed like a wanton in Megatron's mind.

The creature's curiosity drew it on to those images the Decepticon assumed it would find enticing; peace, beauty—emotion—even when he had to spell it out.

"Interfacing," Megatron gave a name to the wasted effort, the primitive sounds, the null space between the Autobots known as Ironhide and Ratchet. "What we call intimacy between our kind."

Rather than fascination on the exchange, the human registered—Megatron's disinterest.

"Perceptive creature." Praise, because it went past the imagery, rather than get lost in it.

Life had been sacred to Cybertronian society—it had been what made them such a strong society—they valued each facet OF it, its citizens.

"They knew NOTHING of reality—we were so insulated," the communication was ugly, but the warmth—despite what it surely sensed coming, remained trapped NOT by Megatron, but by its own curiosity. "We STAGNATED."

Finally, the warmth—transmitted thoughts of its own, "There was no suffering, no fear—there was gratitude, love—no death—but YOU—"the thought was inelegant, unimaginative, but it was as Megatron preferred—it was concise. "YOU were just a machine with only enough sentience—to KNOW—to FEEL it—to feel anything but-"

Megatron smiled, even for the word…

"Death."

"I LEFT Cybertron—traveled other worlds, other galaxies, seeking the answers I FOUND," Megatron lifted his optics to the black memories, a match, even for that dark history and matching spark of humanity's that Optimus Prime seemed blind to. "I brought them BACK to Cybertron—though slowly, insinuating MY views, MY reality, into MY world…"

…He brought the reality of the Machine, by gradually getting his own people to believe that this was the route to their species' evolution. It was all for the 'good' of society, to be cogs—and slowly, he made individuality selfishness, intimacy a 'foul, organic weakness', and touted the 'superiority' of the machine. He even managed to convert the idea of bonding to mechs in order to complement society a 'civil duty'.

This, coming from a mech whom the process of TRUE bonding meant nothing—a Cybertronian who could barely feel…

"…But, they are NOT just machines," Megatron's human state began altering—it was a change the Decepticon recognized—that sweet, powerful feeling.

"No—they are not," Megatron conceded, "But in creating an emotional wasteland, anger, resentment, frustration, discrimination, hate- in emptiness—in many, I created those willing to become my followers—like Barricade and Starscream, that do MY bidding…"

"…Out of your own people—monsters," the horror swelled in the human's CPU. "To help remake the world in YOUR image. The image—of the Machine."

"Aaaahhhhhhlittle human—but you understand it DEEPER than that, with my wanting the AllSpark, and YOU, your KIND, don't you?"

There it was, as humans would say—the 'sweet spot'.

Megatron dived in.

Sweeping away his very CPU, emotions rushed Megatron—thick, sharp pain gripped his cold spark and he convulsed upward. The pulse there began to strengthen, crackling a bright blue, the heat shooting through his systems, alien shocks that fed back to his CPU, terms waiting to embrace the new input—it was so strong, Megatron found it almost impossible to prolong the impending feeling—the sweet, delicious overload—

There were things completely unanticipated there.

Admiration.

The human found Megatron's tactical acumen—impressive, even though they would never admit to it.

Megatron took it all in, like the richest energon, lapping to the last dregs, as the emotions faded with the human's consciousness.

For a moment, Megatron sat there, awash in the traditional haze brought on from imbibing on a human, enjoying it before the ability TO faded as well.

He almost tossed the creature aside, as if it were an empty container—

"But more than just Hook's—innovations," he chucked with some gratitude, and thought for a moment before transmitting to Barricade, "I have a task for you and your—slave," though Barricade's creature wouldn't last long, from what Megatron understood of Hook's work. The nanites opened a human—using it to control them burned a human out. Barricade's human had a shelf life of hours.

"Obtain human food, and the devices necessary to prepare it," the Decepticon looked upon the human while researching the World Wide Web on care and feeding. "And I want a collar designed to my—specifications."

"You'll waste my slave's time." Barricade's whine sounded like grating metal. "And who cares about WHAT a human eats or wears?"

"I've grown—attached—to THIS one." He wasn't saying it for Barricade's benefit. "And pets should be treated—accordingly."

As Barricade scurried to his task, Megatron affectionately pet his human's silk like head at the tail end of his high, he recalled something in his pet—something they actually had in COMMON—and another tidbit to reward for the next time…

"…Flight appeals to you, doesn't it, MY pet? Perhaps a game of 'Fetch' next time, eh?"

Even in its dazed state, the human trembled.

Like a good pet, even at the end of a rush—Megatron noted its ability-to make its owner feel good…


	4. Chapter 4

Black Data 4

It had been the humans – those creatures that could never let go of anyone or anything – that arranged the rescue party for both Ratchet and Major Lennox…

"…They took our CO, they got your medic—can't let this shit stand," TSgt Epps had declared, and to Prime's consternation, even their First Sergeant – who should have been the voice of reason – SMSgt Donelly, agreed. So too did Maggie and Sam, who were civilians.

Prime hadn't liked that Mikaela – now a Senior Airman - had chosen to go. It didn't please the Autobot leader in the least, but it didn't surprise him.

Captain Marissa Fairborn had agreed to go, so it was only logical Ultra Magnus would follow, as did Prowl and Jazz, who had served with Ratchet so long, they could not imagine existence without him.

Ironhide – Ratchet's mate – had prepared long before.

Cyclonus was a surprise…

"…Pathetic that it would be HUMANS to endeavor such, when all they're capable of, is dying."

Sgt Donelly slammed the cartridge into her weapon in irritation. "Worse things to lose than your life, when it comes to Megatron. But then," she eyed him slyly, "You'd know, wouldn't you Cyclonus?"

The ex-con looked down at her, could have simply killed her—but instead, he smirked laconically.

Cyclonus was never far from her during the battle, which was a surprisingly brief altercation, thanks to a human network set up to monitor Decepticon movement all over the planet. Thanks to that, Prowl knew that the manning at the Con station was woefully thin.

Yes, the battle was surprisingly successful.

Prime understood however, the aftermath would prove something else entirely…

**MEGATRON/WILL LENNOX**

He didn't shiver because he was cold. He was cold from being the extension of the anger, the hatred, glaring from behind his eyes.

Major Lennox closed them…

The station had to be abandoned, the Decepticons falling back to the central 'hive' managed by Soundwave.

The walls shuddered, resonating; speaking of the anger and violence imprinted onto one (Major Lennox), basked in by another.

'Traitor," the word crackled through the circuitry in a language of hot electricity no one dared touch. "Weak. Pathetic. Traitor."

"Cyclonus," Starscream spoke the name that defined them all in Megatron's CPU—the ONLY name that did this to their leader.

Long ago, Cyclonus and others had been such—little things, when Megatron took them on his journey. When they returned, they were something never seen on their world; Scourge, the Tracker, and Cyclonus, the Warrior.

As far as Megatron was concerned, it should have never changed Cyclonus' position…

"…Traitor!"

And Lennox caught a soft echo, the residue of a memory—something—a ghost of Megatron's experience with his latest human, from whence the anger could be reproduced…

'…Pet…gone…'

"I tolerate failure yet again. You have all lost what was mine—traitor—pet."

"The traitor had a parasite—it had teeth," Barricade indicated one of the human soldiers who had learned how to hurt robotic life.

'…Pet—traitor—gone…'

Megatron grabbed with such savagery, Barricade by the throat, gazing at him not with anger, more with curiosity. As if he had determined the Decepticon too insignificant and wondering how he had the audacity to exist despite.

"I want them both returned." And Barricade dropped to the ground as Megatron's anger piqued, faded, leaving them all ragged and disjointed.

A mental caress crossed Will Lennox' mind as he opened his eyes and found himself eleswhere…

"…I don't care WHAT your reasons were, Cyclonus! You were given a direct order to keep to the perimeter! You endanger EVERYONE when you try engaging in personal vendettas…!"

In his head, Will could feel Megatron, cold and mocking…

'Weak. Pathetic. Traitor. Small wonder Cyclonus joined Prime, who knows not to even discipline his own troops. How can you, a TRUE warrior, come to terms with such-weakness…?"

All the way back to base, William Lennox' being was inundated by surges—conspiratorial whispers and observations…

"…Why isn't he moving?" Mikaela asked of First Aid, who was tending to an off-line Ratchet. "Can't he see us? Hear us?"

'Hear the fear in her voice? Smell it—and know that just being able to means you're not one of them anymore…'

Yes, Will could feel the blood pound, the quickening of breath—he could see the sweat when he gazed at Mikaela thru Megatron's optics, the girl moving back when she looked into his face.

He noted however, that Epps searched when he looked, and Donelly looked back at him just as hard and cold.

'You're part of ME now,' the Decepticon wen on, as something more than just William Lennox' humanity crackled in his body. 'My power, my insight, my immortality—shared now with YOU. I—whose battle prowess and strategy YOU so admired—I chose YOU. I did not do so lightly…'

The man closed his eyes, and tried hard to feel what this all once meant to him. He KNEW TSgt Epps and Optimus Prime—he knew all the protocols, the history, the present—he KNEW them, but he was only able to reach them like they were insignificant bits of data he'd read in a very boring book.

In place of emotions, Will felt—power—and a clearness that sharpened all other senses and his ability to think. He felt like a razor…

"…Nanites, Prime," was First Aid's diagnosis, the both gazing down at him. "It's like an infection."

"Can you remove them?"

And Megatron whispered, 'Can they not even afford you a choice?' Finding agreement in the human, he went on, 'So much for Autobot philosophy—freedom, as long as you conform…'

Will closed his eyes…

And nodded…

"How long?"

That was the question, wasn't it?

"I don't know," Sgt Donelly had told Sarah Lennox, her expression softening from the usual granite.

Sarah was a military wife—she knew the drill—the waiting, the speculation—she'd done it before, and the worst part—always, was the not knowing. So she looked at the First Shirt, not as a military figure, but as one who had been through it themselves.

"I need to know."

Sgt Donelly grimaced, gestured—the two women sat down.

"You're aware of how bots are—intimate with each other, I assume—Ironhide's told you—that it isn't a tactile thing—not like humans."

For a moment, Sarah was silent. She could not imagine where this was heading.

'…Didn't want to—nonono—not my Will…'

"They don't reproduce—they can touch, display tenderness but—pleasure is an internal experience to them. In some cases, its manipulation of energy fields, others, its merging sparks and then—"Donelly hesitated, letting it all sink in, even her own regret. -they uplink into one another's minds—shooting frequencies into each other like wifi."

"But NOT with humans," Sarah created distance as she said it, as if it would prevent any contradiction to her hopes from reaching her heart. "First Aid said there's not a scratch on him—like he's physically—"

"Sarah," Donelly held the woman's hand. "He's inundated with nanites. Allowing for—compatibility…"

There was no denial, no begging, no tears. But Sarah's knuckles had gone white as she processed what she'd been told. She was a smart woman, and understood when she was told, "He was found—with Megatron."

Small surprise. Will was an exceptional man—even the Devil would know that.

So now, as the first stage of this new reality set in, the numbness before the panic, pain and having to swallow it all to help her husband get through it, Sarah was back to the beginning of it all.

How long…

**Cyclonus**

Optimus, concerned about Cyclonus disobeying orders, linked to the complex to observe the ex-con, to make sure that he posed neither danger to himself, or others.

The former Decepticon silently watched as human and medic were moved to the Infirmary—his gaze never wavered from the closed door, until Sarah Lennox made her way to where her husband was being held.

"The human was wearing a collar I know all too well—Megatron's 'gift' of ownership."

"Megatron. Did you actually break ranks because you thought you could KILL him?"

"I did so—because I knew you could not."

"But you let Prime believe otherwise."

"A warrior knows how to use even gossip and innuendo to their advantage."

"Even if they're true…"

Cyclonus began folding upon himself then, much like the All Spark did when Bumble Bee first laid digits upon it on Earth. Every rotation, every fold, brought him closer to his objective, until he was no more than a head taller than they.

They backed, and the ex-con muttered, "You fear me more like this."

Sgt Donelly reached out then, touching the 'gossip and innuendo' that marred otherwise sleek metal, with tenderness surprising for even her. "Didn't you get enough scars and damage from that fucking egomaniac, without looking for more?"

"Not all of us are fortunate enough to lose our abusers in battle." And Cyclonus noticed the human wincing slightly. He smoothed away that pained expression, adding, "But you would not blame me for being—hopeful—that I'd become as free as you..."

Who knew that a Transformer and a human could have so much in common?

"And when that happens—IF," Sgt Donelly turned away, "Will you go back to being a Decepticon? Turn on the Autobots and humans you allied yourself with?"

"When Megatron is no more, and our presence on your world is no longer required, will you stop loving another and finally see me instead?"

"I see you Cyclonus," Donelly didn't shy away when he moved close enough for their bodies to touch, and the pair became reflections of a vulnerability no one would have expected them capable of. "I see a survivor—some one I admire for it, but I don't think it would be wise for me to look any deeper, given the circumstances—do you?"

The Decepticon's expression softened then, as a gentle caress guided her to glistening ruby optics so he could assure her, "It will not be Megatron you see in me, that much, I promise you."

"You're assuming I'd look."

"We are getting close enough, my human that you already HAVE…"

…Perhaps he should have observed further, or brought SMSgt Donelly to task for fraternizing with an entity that had once been Megatron's 'possession' for many years—but for some reason, Prime couldn't—not at that moment.

As Sgt Donelly had said, it wasn't always wise to look too deeply.

For Optimus Prime, that warning—had come too late…

***Ratchet and Ironhide**

"…Physically, he has a few dents, some scratches in – strange places. He's free of contagion – no viruses or nanites – but he spent his imprisonment cut off—data and sensory deprivation. And the one thing Megatron did to him—something—human…"

Ironhide got the full report on his bond who now sat in the observation chamber—and had yet to reconnect—with even Ironhide…

'…Megatron did…something—human…'

It was gentle at first – tendrils of caution, signals of approach as Ironhide stepped to the door. There was silence, but within his CPU, the weapons' spec was pushing the complex' 'communications'—impulses of other Autobots, updates, commands and data transfers—far into the background as he could.

'Ratchet…'

The door slid open, Ironhide stepped inside.

For a moment, he didn't know what to expect. When their connection had been blocked so significant a part of the older mech's function had gone so out of balance, Ironhide almost completely shut down.

His life had become a gun with no bang.

But finally, there stood Ironhide's 'bang' –standing to the side, head hung low.

"I liked it, 'Hide."

For a moment, Ironhide hung back as their bond began reinitiating itself, little by little.

"Liked—what, Ratch?"

The burning—Ironhide was no more than a foot away when he began to feel it – that burning need – like a spark craving a spark, but—

It wasn't Ratchet's spark that was alone in its craving.

"Ratch—"Ironhide wasn't a 'touchy-feely' sort (as Lennox termed it). He wasn't like Jazz, who took so well to human culture and habits. And yet, there were moments – THIS moment, Ironhide couldn't stand the separation any longer – would even settle for a tactile connect.

On contact, Ratchet emitted a tiny hiss, he shuddered, and his optics flashed a darker blue as they fixed on his bond. The medic reached out, gasping as he pressed his mouth onto Ironhide's, moaning, "I liked being made HUMAN…!"


End file.
